“Have some lessons, eh?” he said.
“No, uncle.”
“How would you manage it then, Nat?”
“Buy a stuffed bird, uncle, and pull it to pieces, and see how it is done.”
“To be sure, Nat,” he cried; “to be sure, my boy. That’s the way; but stop a moment; how would you put it together again?”
“Oh! I think I could, uncle,” I said; “I’m nearly sure I could. How could I get one to try with?”
“Why, we might buy one somewhere,” he said thoughtfully; “for I don’t think they’d lend us one at the British Museum; but I tell you what, Nat,” he cried: “I’ve got it.”
“Have you, uncle?”
“To be sure, my boy. There’s your aunt’s old parrot that died and was stuffed. Don’t you know?”
I shook my head.